


At The Least Sound

by finch (afinch)



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Judeo-Christian Mythology - Fandom, Sumerian Mythology
Genre: Mythology - Freeform, Mythology References, Mythopoetic, Not So Stealth Crossover, POV Multiple, Stealth Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2840684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afinch/pseuds/finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, my name was Tiamat; once upon a time, my name was Xaphania. Once upon a time, twice over, I mothered the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At The Least Sound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [woggy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/woggy/gifts).



> This is a blending of Mythologies set in the HDM universe, focused on Xaphania. It twists the mythologies together. There is a blink and you'll miss it shout out whose canon could conceivably fit into this narrative as well. 
> 
> I've reference Wendell Berry's "The Peace of Wild Things" throughout, so it only seemed fitting that the title was taken from the poem as well. And, Ukum means dust in Sumerian.
> 
> Thanks to ladypoetess (Eirenne Saijima) for the beta and reassurances!

You hear the stories of her, the non-goddess, the other angel, the fallen one, the one destined to be reviled by the very beings she was attempting to set free. You hear the stories of her, the non-corporeal being who knelt before a man and pledged her undying allegiance. You hear the stories of her, the kind mother-like being who did not consider herself greater than any other sentient creature. You hear the stories of her, woven through fabrics of time and every creation, and you wonder if she's found herself in the grace of world, if she's finally free.

* * *

You pick apart her place in the myths, you know she was once called Tiamat. You wonder who that made the Authority, and a soft laugh shakes you out of your thoughts. 

"He called himself Marduk, when we were both young," she said.

She looks like an old Tartar woman, her face pulled back and wrinkled, weathered with age.

"He called himself Marduk, when we were both young," she repeated. "I shall tell you our story."

* * *

Tiamat was falling. 

She was tilting to Earth, Dust on her wings, free from the chains of ignorance.

She had been in bliss for millennia. 

Now the Clouded Mountain was closed to her, forever. 

He had taken from her the pieces of herself that she had built up around the Dust - her armor, her skin, her identity. His angel claws dug into her the core of her existence. She screamed as the demons held her, screamed as he laughed, screamed as he taunted her. He breathed against his claw, sending all that she was spiraling into the void of space before, attracted to itself, it coalesced and formed into a ball. 

"I shall own you," he said, his claws digging again, and again she screamed; she begged for him to end her. He made sure there were no remnants left, nothing but Dust he could not destroy, not having Created it.

"All you had to do was obey, I am The Authority!" He said, breathing again, sending this part of her swirling around the ball, protecting it. She was nothing more than Dust now, and she stubbornly clung to it, refused to dissipate. He couldn't unmake her.

"I shall Banish you to it," he taunted, his voice sharp yet mirthful. "But first, I take the first thing I gave you, I take your name. Unless you kneel before me."

When she said no, he pushed her from the cliff, sending her towards the newly-created Earth.

* * *

You are in awe. You are captivated. You would do anything she asked right now, so long as she kept speaking. Her voice is softest silk, soothing with every syllable. You want to ask why you don't know the story like that, why the worlds don't know the story the way she is telling it, but she wraps you in her arms, covers your mouth, and tells you only to listen.

* * *

I knelt before him, my lips on his feet. I waited. He liked to make us wait. I waited and eventually he sighed, "my child," and I could look at him in awe and reverence. He was my Creator, he had breathed life into me, formed me and my brethren, and all he asked in return was that we worship and obey him. He found a way to give the Universe his essence, and in turn, he put it into each of us. He called it our armor. I called it my cloak. 

It was Dust that showed me his lies. It was Dust that was itself yearning to be free.

He had considered the possibility of a rebellion. That was my fault. I was young. I had Dust on my side. I thought there could be no wrong. He took my name, he threw me to the earth he had made from my grace, and I and the others fell.

We had our revenge: patience. We needed patience. There was humanity, his creations, nothing but minions to his power. We changed that. We screamed to Earth, gathering Dust on our wings; we shared it with humanity, and they began to change. We were going to build an army to rise against and smite him.

I was young. I had Dust on my side. I did not think it could go so wrong, for so long.

He had hidden me, and I reminded him of that in my new name; anyone who spoke of me taunted him. God has Banished is my name, I took his pride in Banishing the Fallen from him, and he was angry. There was nothing he could do but try to change the outcome in his favor. 

So it came to pass that there was a Garden. You may know of it as Eden; we called it Dilmun.

Marduk had lesser angels guard the place, thinking we couldn't find a way in. We were determined to intervene, and we slipped through the defenses as tiny common garden snakes.

I was to play the part of the Serpent.

* * *

Xaphania was falling.

She was tilting to Earth, Dust on her wings, free from the cloak of ignorance. 

No longer would the Authority have dominion over the worlds.

He had closed the sky to her; she would rise from the ground.

* * *

You know the story has been rewritten now, you are familiar with the tale of Enki and how Ninti was to heal his ribs. You can hold your Adam and Eve against it, and see how the Authority changed the ending. You can trace the stories throughout time; Marduk, El, 'Ilu. and Elohim. Adonai, Allah, and The Almighty. The Authority. 

You can see the stories as individual battles of Marduk and the angel Xaphania. You can see the many faces she is painted with across the layers of the world. You can see extraordinary patience, as she waits for the right moment to strike the Authority. 

You know Enoch, the son of Jared, son of Mahalalel, son of Kenan, son of Enosh, son of Seth, son of Adam and the part he has played in this, as well. You know the Authority sent an angel who was a conscious man to do battle with the angel he Banished. You know even the Metatron could not destroy a being of Dust. You know Will Parry will have his role to play in Cittagazze, where the Metatron instructed the philosophers inside Torre degli Angeli to create the Æsahættr. You don't know how. 

You have pieces that don't fit, and an angel incredibly patient at your interruptions. She has had to be patient for over thirty thousand years. She can be patient while you attempt to figure it out. 

When you are ready, she begins again.

* * *

The Authority (or the Metatron, here it is hard to tell) creates a being devoid of grace. While the fallen angels were stripped of theirs, they have the capacity to see it and one day obtain it. These beings, called Spectres, have no such capacity; they are the most foul things to exist in all the universes and they cross between the dividers almost as easily as the angels do. 

The angels cannot go to the Torre degli Angeli to stop what is about to happen. They cannot stop the false-promises of the Metatron. They cannot tell the men inside that they will spend the rest of their eternity in servitude to a false god. They are powerless as the Æsahættr is formed.

They are powerless against it; it is the only object Xaphania has ever known to cut through Dust.

The Authority, via the Metatron, taunts her in Cittagazze and dares her to fight him.

The fallen angel flees, and leaves him to slip into the faiths she has been pushing against; he closes the gaps, makes her the main villain in the story. He calls Dust, sin, and the world falls again.

* * *

Recite the catechism of the Catholic Church. Recite the pillars of faith of the Magesterium. Watch as the Metatron, protected by the Æsahættr's existence, infiltrates every world, every civilization, every faith. Watch as Xaphania waits for a peculiar prophecy of the witches.

You know what is coming. You know the serpent, with her marzipan. You know the Metatron has always underestimated man, has always believed the Authority is God. You could tell him to look to Xaphania, if he wants a God. She is the one who interfered in evolution, after all. Humankind is not in her image, nor the Authority's. Humankind is in the image of Dust, as are the angels and all conscious beings. Humankind is modeled after her desire; in giving them Dust and consciousness, she gave them her Pandora. She gave them the capacity for beautiful dreams and terrible nightmares. You could tell this to the Metatron, but he will not listen.

It his his hubris, passed from Marduk, that will be his undoing.

* * *

There will always be a threat to Dust. There will never be an Authority again; now that we know where we come from, we can only build up. We can only protect Dust. I told the child a small amount could slip out into one opening. I did that so that we may all return to the Dust from which we were formed. 

I was not the first angel created, that was Marduk. I was second, after many millennia. Once upon a time, my name was Tiamat; once upon a time, my name was Xaphania. Once upon a time, twice over, I mothered the world. 

My sweet little one, I am to take leave now. I am to guide the angels once more into an uncertain future. I will guide them to the peace of wild things, and we will find our grace, shed from us for so long, in the still waters.

No longer are we fallen. No longer do we need to meddle in the lives of humans so they may fight our battles for us. No longer shall you see me again, but if you call, I shall meet you at the place where you return to Dust, and join you in returning. And what to call me, when you wish for my presence?

I am Ukum.


End file.
